


Breach of Confidentiality

by Auggusst



Series: The Soldier And The Scientist [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Arguing, Banter, Daddy Issues, Depression, Drinking, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mention of abuse, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, team dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22848871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auggusst/pseuds/Auggusst
Summary: In the middle of team dinner, Steve pushes Tony's hot button, which happens to be labled 'Howard Stark.' He couldn't have known any better. Tony so rarely shares his issues. But Tony opens up now, talks about the inherent trauma of having a father like Howard, and Steve falls a little more in love with him.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: The Soldier And The Scientist [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/468745
Comments: 27
Kudos: 263





	Breach of Confidentiality

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise! Pining?! Daddy issues?! Tony started and would not stop when I was writing this. Even I was sitting there like 'oof, where did that all come from?' If you know me, it's pretty much common knowledge that I too, have daddy issues. It's uh...not fun. But hey, what better way to deal with it than turn it into a fic? Hope you enjoy!

Tony frowned and rolled his eyes, standing from the dinner table. “Oh fuck off, why don’t you?”

Steve glared at him from across the way. He’d heard that one a thousand times. “Come on, you can’t think of something better than that?”

“I’m serious, Rogers! Back the fuck off!” Tony growled, hand tightening around his whiskey glass. He was dangerously close to exploding.

The others at the table looked between the two, torn between interrupting or staying quiet. Bruce looked sick to his stomach, Clint a mixture of intrigued and nervous. Natasha was taking it in stride. Thor, thankfully, wasn’t even in the same country at the moment, so he was missing the entire exchange. No one knew who started it. It didn’t really matter at this point. They were more concerned with making sure objects didn’t fly.

Bruce didn’t understand how the two could get so riled up. Actually, he thought he understood perfectly. There was an underlying tension whenever Steve and Tony shared a room. He wasn’t sure they were even aware of it themselves. Someone more crude than he (probably Clint) would call it was it was: UST. But honestly, it was more than that. Bruce had seen the way Tony looked at Steve whenever he thought no one could see. He’d seen and heard stories of Tony’s childhood, and how he idolized the soldier. He had noticed how often Tony mentioned Steve in conversation, when it was just the two of them working in the lab. He noticed how often Tony tried to impress the soldier, even if he didn’t admit it.

In short, Bruce had documented at least twenty different examples of lovesick behavior in his friend, but knew Tony valued his privacy in matters of the heart, so he said nothing. He was getting damn tempted to say something now though. They’d been at each other’s throats all week. Every little thing seemed to set one of them off, and the other would rise to meet them. It was driving the team to insanity.

“You’re such a child!” Steve replied. “Always pushing, but quick to cry when you get pushed back! What, your daddy didn’t teach you any respect?!”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” the brunet warned, pointing a predatory finger in the soldier’s direction.

Even Natasha was starting to look uncomfortable now. She knew Stark’s father was a touchy subject, had heard enough and seen enough during the week she affectionately called “Hell Week” in 2010 where she was undercover at Stark Industries. She tried to shoot Steve a warning glance, but he ignored it.

He clenched his fists, shoulders high and tight. “I can’t believe you’re even related sometimes! Howard could be annoying but he would never raise a self-centered, insensitive bastard like you!”

Yup. That had done it.

Tony’s glass sailed through the air and smashed somewhere on the back wall of the dining room. The trio at the table flinched. Tony didn’t even have the strength to come up with a reply. He let out a frustrated growl, and stormed out of the room before anyone could say “oops.”

The room was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Bruce took a sip of his drink. Steve’s eyes were fixed on the door, where Tony had just left, as if he could will the scientist back just by staring.

“Well shit,” Clint sighed. “As entertaining as that was, I don’t think bringing up Stark’s father was the right call, Cap.”

Steve frowned, put his hands on his hips and looked at the ground. He shrugged. “Nothing’s off limits when it comes to Tony. You’ve heard some of the things he’s said.”

“Just because Tony says certain things, doesn’t mean we all should,” Natasha replied. “If you haven’t noticed by now, Tony isn’t your average person.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asked. He wasn’t particularly fond of the way they were chastising him right now. Usually Tony was on the other end of this type of talk. It made him feel juvenile, like he’d crossed a line. The truth was, maybe he had.

“It means that, you just struck his deepest nerve,” Bruce offered. “And you might want to start working on your apology now if any of us want to get sleep this week. Me specifically. I’m the one who’s going to have to curb his self-destructive tendencies.”

“Self destructive—? Come on, guys. Tony will get over it. We’ve been through this a thousand times,” Steve said defensively. He sat down in his seat once more, took a sip of his drink. The others gave him doubtful looks that made him want to disappear.

Natasha sighed, brushed a hand through her hair. “Go and see him, Rogers.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Nat quirked her brow in the way that said she meant business, and it shut him up. Steve looked at his half-finished plate, and at each of his teammates. They were all looking at him expectantly. It didn’t seem like he really had a choice.

Steve cleared his throat. “I’m gonna go see Tony,” he muttered, and practically leapt out of his seat.

Tony was livid. His eyes stung and his blood ran hot, and he wanted nothing more than to tear himself apart at the moment. Steve had really done it this time. The blond had a habit of frustrating him, of arguing with him, but true _hurtful_ arguments were few and far between thankfully. This just happened to be one of those terrible times. Steve just _had_ to mention the one thing Tony was incessantly sensitive about: his father.

Tony hated his dad. He hated him, and he didn’t at the same time. Who ever truly hated their parents? No matter how much you were hurt, or how bad they fucked you up, they were still your parents, and some part of you would always beg for their approval. At least, that was Tony’s experience. He wished it wasn’t like that. Sometimes he wished he was an orphan.

He’d lived his entire life in Howard’s shadow in one way or another. Not a year went by that he didn’t hear ‘You look so much like your father,’ or ‘You’ve ruined/carried on Howard’s legacy.’ Why was it so difficult to be his own person? Why did people have to _compare_ him all the time? And Steve had mentioned parenting. That really made it worse.

Howard was a horrible father. The older Tony got, the more he tried to rationalize, to tell himself that Howard simply hadn’t been ready for the responsibility, but another part of him knew there was no excusing his father’s behavior. He knew it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t normal, that he could count on his fingers the amount of times his father had hugged him, or the handful of times he heard the words ‘I’m proud of you.’ He knew it wasn’t right that Howard pushed him off or away, that he only saw Tony when convenient, and dumped him on nannies and later to boarding school. He knew that getting _disciplined_ on nights when Howard drank too much, when his breath stunk of whiskey and his words were sharp and unrefined wasn’t right, and certainly wasn’t his fault. It still hurt, though. It still left him asking, as long as he could remember, ‘What’s wrong with me? Why am I not good enough?’

Maria did the best she could. She would wipe his tears, hold him close and sing or play the piano, but his mother wasn’t always there. She had her own pursuits, her own career, and that left Tony wanting more often than not. Truth be told, Howard and Maria Stark should’ve never had a kid. Tony should’ve been born to someone else. Parenting required sacrifice. It meant putting your own dreams on hold, and giving love and support and _time_ to your child. Tony’s parents weren’t capable of sacrifice apparently, unless it involved sacrificing him.

Sometimes Tony wondered just how much they loved him. He was sure his mother did. Howard on the other hand? It was hard to tell. According to outside sources, he did. Fury had said so. An old recording, the ticket to fixing his arc reactor, did. But that wasn’t the same as hearing it in person. And if Howard could say it in a recording, why couldn’t he have said it in real life? It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. There was nothing Tony wanted as much as his father’s love growing up, even when looking at his smug face made bile rise in his throat, even when the very sound of Howard’s voice made Tony’s teeth clench. It was a true paradox, and one he could never escape.

It didn’t help that Howard was dead, and had been for two decades. Maybe if the bastard was still alive, Tony could confront him about it all, could work up the courage to ask questions or yell at him or something. But instead, Tony lived with ghosts, with memories, that no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t resolve anything. He drank because of it, started at MIT and never really stopped, though these days he had finally worked himself back down to social drinker. It was hard, especially on days like these, when some ignorant bastard (or ignorant teammate in this case) saw it fit to dredge up the past.

What right did Steve have? He’d never met Howard as a parent. He’d only met Howard when he was young and stupid. Howard didn’t even meet Maria until after the war. How could Steve pretend, assume, that he knew _anything_ about the way Howard had raised Tony? Tony could take a lot, but that was truly the last straw. He was sure it was because it was Steve specifically who had thrown the insult.

Tony couldn’t deny that he had feelings for Steve, no matter how much he wanted to. He wanted the blond’s approval so bad, maybe just as much or even more than his father’s. Was that kind of fucked up? Maybe. Did Tony have any choice in it? None whatsoever. He began to recognize his… _stirrings_ pretty early on, and living in the Tower, in close proximity (sure they all had separate floors, but between group meals, missions, training and simple R&R, Tony was metaphorically sleeping in the same bed as Steve at this point. He definitely would prefer _actually_ sleeping in the same bed, but that wasn’t even remotely a possibility, especially with the way they argued) only made them grow and grow. He was, ugh, _pining_ , at this point. That is, when Steve wasn’t driving him up the wall. The blond was infuriating, incredibly irritating, and overall insufferable. He was also incredibly hot, and protective, and a good leader, and too kind for his own good. Steve was an enigma and a magnificent magnet, and Tony, unfortunately, was made of iron. Tony couldn’t help but be drawn to him, like gravity.

Well. No one ever said Tony’s self preservation skills were satisfactory.

Right now though, he just wanted to crawl into a ball and die. He had hightailed it out of the dining room and into his workshop as quick as possible, shame in his blood and pain in his heart. Thankfully there wasn’t a mirror here. Seeing his warped, barely visible reflection in the surface of his workbench was bad enough. God, and here were the tears. They burned this time, like they were too toxic for even his body, and they slid down his hot cheeks in big globs.

Tony growled and brushed them away with the sleeve of his button-down shirt. “Fuck you,” he muttered, to no one in particular. The scientist sniffled, clenched his jaw, and slid down to the floor, his back resting against his desk.

He sighed. Maybe he shouldn’t have thrown his glass. He didn’t have anything to drink now. There _was_ a kitchenette on the opposite side of the workshop, but getting up felt like too much work right now.

To his dismay, there was a knock on the glass, and he could see Steve on the other side, jaw set and brows knit. He didn’t seem angry anymore, more concerned now, and Tony couldn’t decide if that was better or worse.

Tony thought about refusing him entry. He thought about sticking up the middle finger and having JARVIS lower the blast shields, but decided against it. Maybe he had overreacted a bit. Or a lot. But if Steve hadn’t struck a nerve like that, it wouldn’t have happened, so who was really to blame here? (Probably Tony. He started the argument, after all.)

The scientist frowned a little. He brushed his hands over his face to remove any evidence of his tears, and shrugged at Steve.

Steve took a deep breath and stepped into the workshop. He was in Tony’s space now. He’d been here a handful of times, for uniform upgrades or new tools, but there was something intimate about the workshop, especially now, that made Steve feel like an invader. It was quiet, and somewhat dark, with only a few of the lights on. The dinner table felt like a stage, or an arena, but here, it was just him and Tony, and it was easier to take a step back and breathe.

For about the thousandth time, he felt a sense of shame that he’d let his temper get the best of him, that the two of them couldn’t get through a meal without it escalating. Why? Well, part of him knew why. There was a big chunk of his heart, that oftentimes overshadowed any logic his brain put forth, that had feelings for Tony. He couldn’t pinpoint when they started. He wasn’t sure how deep they delved either. All Steve knew was that he was infatuated with the brunet, with the possibility of being with him, and was routinely irritated by the impossibility of it, and tension and differences between them that made it hard to function as a team, and as friends.

They _were_ friends though. He trusted Tony to get him out of any pickle, and knew that Tony trusted him in return. They’d done a lot of good together in the short time since the team had moved into the tower. There were weeks when everything went smoothly, where they could go for days without so much as a frown at each other, but then there were weeks, like now, where it seemed impossible to have a normal conversation. His feelings only made it worse. He often wanted to shut Tony up with a kiss, to pin him against the wall and run his hands all over the scientist’s body, to turn that smug, hotheaded man into a moaning, breathless mess.

Tony wasn’t doing much better. The curve of Steve’s shoulders, the strength in his back as he threw the shield in the training room, or the goddamn way his lashes nearly grazed those sharp cheekbones as he looked down drove the brunet nuts. Steve had awoken a thirst in Tony that he hadn’t felt since being a teenager, and it was supremely frustrating. He wanted Steve, really bad, and was endlessly annoyed that he couldn’t have him.

Right now though he was annoyed regardless, and frowned up at the blond from his seat on the floor.

“I…I came to—“ Steve began.

Tony didn’t let him finish. “You know, Howard was a piece of shit. I know it’s hard to believe, and I’m sure you’ve got some lovely rose-tinted glasses about the handful of times you met the bastard, but trust me.”

Steve tried to process that. “Look, I didn’t mean to, you know…”

“He was a terrible father,” Tony continued. “He should’ve never had me,” the brunet said. He got to his feet.

Steve didn’t like the sound of that. “Don’t say that. Where would the rest of us be without you?”

“Probably living better lives,” Tony shrugged.

“I doubt it,” Steve replied. “But…Tell me about Howard, then, if I was so wrong about him.”

The brunet squinted at him.

“Please,” Steve added. If he had struck such a nerve, he needed to know why.

Tony scoffed, in a tired sort of way. He walked towards the mini-bar by the kitchenette, slowly, but with purpose. He didn’t speak until his back was turned to Steve. He was too ashamed to say anything while looking into those blue eyes.

“What’s there to tell?” he started. “Should I go for the cold, distant demeanor? Or maybe his uncontrollable pathological desire to be king of the world? To have his name written in history books? Or I know, how about his drinking? And his mean backswing?” Tony asked, yanking open the door to the wine cooler. He pulled out a bottle.

“You know, one time I had a bruise that lasted three weeks? Dear Old Dad was smart about it though, even when he was too fucked up to see straight. He always went for ‘easily concealed.’”

Steve didn’t like what he was hearing at all. He swallowed hard, getting an inkling of why Tony had become so defensive. He stayed quiet. What was there to say? A man who had helped him become who he was today, who helped the war effort and had become a trusted member of SHIELD beat his own son? Mistreated Tony? Steve’s disdain must have shown on his face, because Tony continued.

“But don’t get the wrong idea. It wasn’t a nightly thing or anything. Just every once in a while, when his latest project wasn’t working out, or when the media got too in his face, or when he suddenly remembered that he failed to find _you_ , and that he was stuck with a miserable excuse for a son like me to keep him company instead.”

The sound of wine pouring into a glass was as loud as the rushing water of Niagara Falls.

“But they never put any of that shit in the documentaries, do they? They never mention it in the articles, or the tributes, or even the tell-all TV show specials. No. They only talk about how _great_ Howard is. The Great Howard Stark: Pioneer of the Modern Age, Headliner on the Manhattan Project, and Billionaire Philanthropist. And Tony? The spitting image, physically, but the Scandalous Disappointment, the Corruptor of his Great Legacy.”

Steve couldn’t bite his tongue anymore. “I don’t think you’re—“

Tony trampled over his words. He had started now, and it was difficult to stop. He rarely spoke on this subject, and certainly was never this honest about it, and it scared him. It scared him into running, metaphorically, and he couldn’t get his ‘feet’ to stop.

“But that’s fine, right? I _was_ stupid when I was younger, I’ll give them that. I was stupid a few years ago too. But none of them ever wonder _why_. No one ever stops to think that maybe my parents fucked me up, that maybe I’m stumbling through a world with a name tattooed across my forehead that burns like a brand, when all I really wanna do is rip it off, but _can’t_ , because that’s the burden I was born with. No one ever thinks that maybe I don’t want to hear my father’s name, or think about him, or anything he said or did, and that it makes me _sick_ to hear him glorified, when I know that he wasn’t a quarter of the man he presented himself as in the news reels. He was an unsympathetic shit bag, who only thought of himself, and his company, and didn’t give two fucks about his son with the exception being how he could make money off of me. He makes me _sick._ And you know what? The worst part is I’m _just_ _like him_ , as everyone likes to point out, and nothing makes me want to fling myself off of the penthouse balcony more than that.”

Tony chugged his glass of wine. He choked on it a little, and took great heaving breaths that turned into hesitant stutters.

Wow. That was… _a lot_. Maybe he needed to say it all though. Maybe it had been bubbling under the surface too long, twisting him and burning him inside out, ever since the anniversary of his parents’ death a few months ago. He was just… _hurt_ , and wouldn’t ever stop being hurt, and he hated it. He hated all of it, and especially hated the wave of sadness that overcame him now, made him slide back down to the floor. His knees felt shaky. 

Steve was at a loss for words. Tony had just poured out his heart, almost palpably, and his words were so raw, and intense, that Steve didn’t know what to do with himself. It took a moment to process, to take it all in. God, had he ever met someone who _suffered_ so much? He understood now, why Tony threw that glass. If he was Steve, more than a glass would’ve been thrown.

“Jesus,” the blond muttered on an exhale.

Tony looked broken sitting on the floor across the room. His eyes were shiny, and wet, but no tears were falling. In fact, his face was almost blank now, save for a hint of sadness. His unsteady breathing was the bigger indication of how he was feeling.

Steve licked his lips. He wanted to pull Tony into an embrace, to tell him everything was okay and that he was so supremely sorry. He wanted to kiss away the brunet’s memories, to take that pain, that anger away from him.

He also really wanted to beat the hell out of Howard. How could he be so cruel? How could he fail Tony so spectacularly? Raising a genius couldn’t have been easy, but Tony deserved better than what he got. Steve felt ashamed that he even mentioned the man’s name. The worst part was, it hadn’t been the first time. He could vividly remember a few arguments over the months now, a quip or two or three or four, where he’d mentioned Howard. Steve regretted it all now.

The soldier found himself moving forward, crossing the distance of the workshop. His footsteps echoed on the floor. He slid down next to Tony, gave him a sideways glance. Here he could see the details of Tony’s face. His skin was reddened and eyes a little puffy now from the tears. There was a stray eyelash resting on his cheek. Steve fought the urge to brush it away.

The brunet just kept looking forward, trying to settle his emotions. He forewent the glass now, and took a swig of wine directly from the bottle. It felt good sliding down his throat, but then again, alcohol usually did. He hated that fact.

“You’re nothing like Howard,” Steve said softly. “You’re so much better.”

Tony paused, the bottle at his lips. They twitched a moment, as he tried to figure out how to reply. “Thanks,” he settled on. He didn’t want to argue anymore. It was easy to just swallow the compliment, even if he didn’t agree with it.

“I’m sorry for bringing him up. I didn’t know,” the blond added.

“I know,” Tony replied. “I’m sorry for throwing a glass at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s okay. Your aim was terrible anyway.”

Tony sighed and rolled his eyes. “You’re really gonna critique my throws now?”

“I wouldn’t have to critique them if you would just _practice.”_

“The suit throws fine enough for me.”

It was Steve’s turn to sigh. “We’re not getting into that argument again.”

“Look, the suit is designed to make up for my shortcomings. It employs a variety of tactics and has an extensive arsenal far beyond the capabilities of—“

“ _Please_ just be quiet for once.”

Tony squinted at him. “You’re in _my workshop_ , which means I don’t have to be quiet. You should be quiet.”

Steve squinted back at him. They were so close now, closer than usual, and it made him kind of nervous, despite everything. He found himself looking at Tony’s lips, the way they curved when he spoke. He was embarrassed even thinking the word, but they looked so… _kissable._

Tony sensed the scrutiny he was under though, and it made him uncomfortable. Steve’s gaze was penetrating in general, but when he was laser-focused on Tony it made him feel naked, in every sense of the world, like Steve could see into his very being. In a way he longed for that. He longed for intimacy on the deepest level, but knew, realistically, it would never be achieved. How could Steve settle for someone like him?

“Fine,” the blond said softly. “I’ll be quiet.” He tore his gaze away from Tony, and looked at the floor instead.

Tony didn’t know how to take that. It was far too easy. “I don’t think you’ve ever listened to me without a fuss like that,” he muttered, taking another sip of wine.

“Now that’s just not true. There’s been plenty of times where I listened. You’re the one who never listens.”

“Uh yeah, because I’m usually right. You know I had J start keeping track? JARVIS, what’s my intellectual superiority statistic?”

_Actually, you and Captain Rogers are practically tied, with 51% to 49% advantage in your direction, sir._

“Hah! See? I’m right more of the time.”

Steve rolled his eyes in disbelief. “Barely.”

Tony shrugged. “Still counts.”

Steve looked at him, a mixture of annoyance and amusement on his face. “You’re really something else, you know that?”

“One of a kind,” Tony replied.

“Truly,” Steve nodded.

There was something about that which sounded like a compliment, and it made Tony’s face warm. He had to get out of here before his brain convinced him to do or say something way out of line. Tony exhaled long and slow to cut the tension, and got to his feet.

“Well, we should get back to dinner. They might start making jokes about us.”

Steve stood up as well. He brushed off his pants. “You know, they probably already have.”

The brunet sighed, rubbed at his eyes. “I better start thinking of comebacks,” he said, putting the cork back in his wine bottle. He set it on the counter and rolled up his sleeves.

“I’ll leave those to you,” Steve replied. “You’re better at them.”

“I am, aren’t I?” Tony mused. He clapped his hands together. “Well, time to get a move on. Close the door on your way out, I don’t want Clint raiding my wine fridge again when he thinks I’m not looking.”

And with that, he left the room, shoulders and head held high, as if he hadn’t had a massive emotional outburst not ten minutes earlier.

Steve was dumbfounded. When he got in a sour mood, it took hours to dissipate, but Tony miraculously recovered in a matter of minutes. Maybe he was used to turning it off, so to speak. Maybe years in the spotlight had made him capable of pushing down his feelings. Steve wondered how many times the brunet had worn a mask in their presence, and why he felt a need to. Wasn’t it easier to just be honest, to be open? He couldn’t imagine forcing down his emotions, his troubles, like that. Tony was talented in that way, though Steve wasn’t sure something like that should be applauded. Quite honestly though, it had a magnetizing effect. It made Steve want to know more.

Steve wanted to see beneath the mask, like he had a few minutes ago. He wanted Tony to share all of himself, without fear, without trepidation. He wanted to earn the scientist’s trust, to be his shoulder to lean on. Maybe he could be one day. Maybe there was a chance for the two of them. He wasn’t sure, but he could dream, right?

Steve gazed after the brunet for a moment, admiring the view so to speak, and followed him out of the workshop. It was at that point he realized, that he’d follow Tony anywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment! I def wanna explore this time period more, before they get together.


End file.
